


If I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake

by CheapLemonIceLolly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Awkward Crush, M/M, cake is the best love language, flirting via pastry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheapLemonIceLolly/pseuds/CheapLemonIceLolly
Summary: “What’s the occasion?”“Um…” Auston panics slightly. He can’t very well say “you are”, so he casts around for a plausible excuse and comes up with “It’s my anniversary.”  Nice and vague.My three week anniversary since the last time I bought a whole cake for no reason, he thinks but doesn’t say.“Nice,” the baker says.  He’s got kind of a small, subtle smile but it comes with this sort of twinkle in his eye that feels really intimate, like they’re sharing a private joke.  Auston doesn’t know what the joke is, but he’s embarrassingly into it anyway.  “Congratulations.”Freddie bakes cakes.  Auston buys cakes.  A lot of cakes.  It's starting to become a problem.





	If I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake

**Author's Note:**

> A bunch of recent videos of these two on Leafs Nation, with Auston acting like a total goof with a crush while Freddie’s all smirky and inscrutable about it, made me fall in love with this ship and there is NOT ENOUGH CONTENT for it. TRAGIC. So here’s six thousand words of Auston being a complete mess. With cake, because I bought an entire cake for no reason a couple of days ago and let me tell you cake is great.

So, there’s this gourmet cake shop a few blocks from Auston’s house, and it’s got the best cakes you will ever taste. Like, seriously, they’re fucking amazing. It’s not one of those big franchise bakeries where they get frozen cakes delivered from some centralised factory in a truck every week and then defrost them, either. It’s a cosy little shop with an ancient coffee machine on the counter and black and white tiles on the floor, and it’s run by a proper pastry chef who plays around with new flavours all the time and makes these really cool, elaborate creations.

And as for the baker himself. Well.

He’s not always in the shop, because he’s obviously like, the boss - he wears a white chef’s coat with the name _Frederik_ embroidered on the left side - but whenever he’s there Auston ends up buying a cake. Not, like, a slice of cake, an entire fucking cake. The cakes are really good, but if he’s honest with himself the deciding factor every time is getting served by the hot baker.

“What’s the occasion?” 

“Um…” Auston panics slightly. He can’t very well say “you are”, so he casts around for a plausible excuse and comes up with “It’s my anniversary.” Nice and vague. _My three week anniversary since the last time I bought a whole cake for no reason_ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

“Nice,” the baker says. He’s got kind of a small, subtle smile but it comes with this sort of twinkle in his eye that feels really intimate, like they’re sharing a private joke. Auston doesn’t know what the joke is, but he’s embarrassingly into it anyway. “Congratulations.”

He’s feeling bold for some reason, so he flips his hair out of his eyes and says, playing it cool, “Yeah, thanks _Frederik_.”

The baker looks surprised for a moment, then glances down at his chest and chuckles. Like, straight up chuckles, all soft and low. It gives Auston actual goosebumps. “Freddie,” he corrects easily. “Guess you’ve got the advantage, huh?”

“Wh--oh,” Auston says. “Um yeah, sorry. I’m Auston?”

He’s not sure why it comes out like a question, but there it is. Auston is good at a lot of things but apparently flirting is not one of them. If this even qualifies as flirting. He’s not good at having very basic conversations with hot people, is what he’s actually saying. God, he is really, really hot. Freddie hands the cake box across the counter with another small, twinkly smile.

“Well,” he says. “Nice to put a name to the face, Auston.”

“Yeah,” Auston says stupidly. “You too.”

*

Auston’s not completely sure what is about Freddie the hot baker that makes him so magnetic. It’s not just that he’s ordinary garden variety hot; it’s the kind of hotness that’s _compelling_ , that makes him swing past the bakery at least once a week just in case Freddie’s there.

(He doesn’t always go inside, just walks past looking for a flash of red hair through the plate glass windows. Out of the corner of his eye, of course. He doesn’t want to be _obvious_.)

Maybe it’s because Freddie seems friendly but in this really reserved way. It’s kind of intriguing, the mystery of what makes him tick, what he’s really like. Maybe it’s just that he’s, like, fucking enormous. Auston is not a small dude but the breadth of Freddie’s shoulders on the other side of the cake cabinet makes him _feel_ small. And also a little weak in the knees. Neither of those are feelings he would’ve thought were actually...positive? But he keeps coming back anyway.

Auston doesn’t even like cake all that much, not _in general_ , but he’s working his way through the bakery’s entire range just to have an excuse to keep coming back. He knows just going in and buying coffee whenever Freddie’s behind the counter would be super pathetic and obvious, so he’s sort of convinced himself, somehow, that buying whole cakes is a less transparent excuse. Like, they’re not cheap, they’re fifty dollars a cake. What kind of loser would pay fifty bucks for a cake they didn’t even want just for an excuse to talk to the baker for five minutes?

Auston is exactly that kind of loser. At least he’s got a housemate with a sweet tooth.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Mitch says, with his mouth full of triple chocolate mousse cake with almond sponge, “but what’s with all the cakes?”

“What do you mean?” Auston says defensively. “I don’t buy that many cakes.”

“Uh,” Mitch puts his fork down so he can stare at Auston more effectively. “You’ve brought home three in the last month. What do _you_ consider a lot of cakes?

Auston’s brain stalls searching for a believable answer, because yeah, okay, three entire cakes is kind of a lot, but he can’t think of one, and he really doesn’t want to tell Mitch the truth and be mocked for it until the end of time. So he rolls his eyes instead.

“I thought you said you weren’t complaining?” he says. “Shut up and eat your cake.”

*

The thing is, it’s not that he’s, like, tortured by this whole thing. He’s not fucking _shy_ , he knows how to meet people, how to make friends. And most of the time thinking about Freddie is, you know, fun. He’s had some really excellent dreams on the subject, heavily featuring broad freckled shoulders and sugar-dusted fingers. Dreams are great because he totally forgets to be nervous when he’s dreaming, so he can skip over feeling embarrassed and awkward and get straight to the fun parts. But when he’s awake...well. Auston’s just kind of a dork when he has a crush on someone, that’s all. Lots of people are.

“So, um. Which one would you recommend?” he asks not-quite-casually, looking at the cakes in the display cabinet and not just openly staring at Freddie’s hands where they’re splayed on the counter. Jesus, he’s got huge hands. Auston’s noticed that before but right now it’s like his stressed brain gets stuck in a rut every time he looks at them, just all: _hands hands hands big strong oh wow_.

He thinks he’s made a brilliant foray into conversation anyway - not too personal, but something Freddie obviously knows plenty about - until Freddie actually comes out from behind the counter and walks around to the front of the cake display to look into it with him. Like, fuck, this was not the plan. Auston glances up at him (only a little but still, up! He isn’t used to looking up at people!) and suppresses a nervous laugh. He can feel his mouth doing something weird, trying to grin like an idiot without his permission.

“I mean, of course they’re all good,” Freddie says with calm self assurance, as if he hasn’t noticed any of this nonsense at all. “But the chocolate ones are always my favourite. We’ve got a few different ones. Depends how heavy you like it.”

Auston makes an involuntary sound that sounds sort of like “Hhhk,” but Freddie either doesn’t notice or tactfully pretends not to. Auston tells himself to get it the fuck together and averts his eyes, with significant effort, towards the chocolate cakes.

“What’s...uh, I’m not even going to try and pronounce that. The one with the cherries.”

“Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?” Freddie says effortlessly. “Black forest cake,” he translates, tapping on the glass. “Chocolate sponge, cream and cherries in cherry liqueur. It’s german.”

“Oh,” Auston says, mouth going dry, because it sounds great but also Freddie’s standing very close to him and he looks even bigger on this side of the counter. And he smells, like, _really_ good. Like vanilla cake batter and coffee. “Um, cool. I’ll take that one then. So, are _you_ german?”

Auston’s been trying to place the soft edge to his accent for weeks, the way it’s not really that foreign but not quite north american either, but it felt kind of weird to ask. Freddie smiles enigmatically and heads back around the counter to box up the shorts...velder...thing.

“No,” he says. “Danish.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Auston says awkwardly. “The cake’s probably enough.”

Freddie snorts and shakes his head, and Auston pays for his cake (somehow without saying _jesus fuck, your hands_ out loud) and reluctantly leaves. It’s not until he’s halfway home that the penny drops. Danish. _God_.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. He definitely cannot ever show his face in the bakery again.

*

Embarrassment keeps him away for maybe two and a half weeks, and then Mitch says something about his mom’s birthday and Auston offers to pick up a cake for her before he can stop himself.

“Ooh, from your secret fancy cake place? D’you think we can get that chocolate cherry thing?” Mitch enthuses. “Hell yeah, let’s do it. I’ll be the favourite son for sure.”

He hadn’t really meant to take Mitch with him, but there doesn’t seem to be any getting out of it, so Auston’s just going to have to, like, stay calm and not do anything that’ll make Mitch suspicious. Easy, right?

It actually goes pretty well at first. Freddie is in the shop - the first time Auston’s ever been disappointed to see him - but, in a shocking development nobody could have predicted, Mitch does most of the talking, and Auston can just hang back and enjoy the view while Freddie talks him through the different cakes on display and helps him pick the right one. It’s kind of nice, actually, listening to him explain all the different flavours in his quiet, monotone voice. Soothing. If Auston’s heartrate didn’t go into double time every time Freddie made eye contact with him, things would be great.

He’s just starting to think he’s got away with the whole outing without Mitch seeing him do or say anything incriminating, when disaster strikes. Mitch has paid for his mom’s cake - red velvet with cream cheese frosting and fresh raspberries, which sounds amazing - and they’re just about to make their escape when Freddie says Auston’s name.

Mitch raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve got something for you,” Freddie says, oblivious to the sudden nervous sweat that’s breaking out on Auston’s palms while he’s reaching under the counter. He produces a paper bag with a pastry in it and holds it out with that twinkly-eyed private joke smile of his. “Don’t look so scared,” he says when Auston just frowns at it. “It’s a danish. Apricot. You know, from...your joke last time.”

Auston lets out this _yelp_ of involuntary laughter. Like, he sounds like a dog being stepped on, it’s humiliating. “Oh, ha, right, my joke,” he says desperately, taking the bag, trying not to jump when his fingers brush the side of Freddie’s hand in the process. He’s smiling so hard his face kind of hurts. “Um, thanks, great, thank you.”

Mitch gives him a _look_ over the top of the cake box.

“Okay,” he says, once they get outside. “I get it now.”

“Shut up,” says Auston, and eats his danish.

*

He’s back at the cake shop less than a week later, but he doesn’t tell Mitch he’s going. After being harassed and interrogated and forced to tell the whole humiliating tale of his cake shop crush, he’s not inviting any more ridicule, thank you very much. It’s early, and Freddie’s out behind the counter personally arranging the day’s cakes and pastries while the barista serves the last of the morning coffee rush stragglers. He looks up when Auston walks in and his face creases into a smile.

“Hey. Did your boyfriend’s mom like her cake?”

Auston’s brain takes in the words, but refuses to process them. He narrows his eyes and frowns at Freddie for a full fifteen seconds before he finally works out what he’s talking about.

“That...that wasn’t my _boyfriend_ ,” he splutters, feeling his face turn red. “Marns is just my housemate.”

“Oh,” Freddie says mildly. Auston tries to tell himself he seems pleased, but honestly that’s wishful thinking; he doesn’t really seem anything, just incredibly calm like always. Freddie shrugs. “When you said that other time it was your anniversary, I thought you meant…”

“No no no,” Auston says hurriedly. “We’re just friends.” He’s definitely blushing now. The anniversary comment was ages ago, why does he still remember that? “I mean we live together but as, like, bros. We work in the same office. Uh, his actual boyfriend moved to Arizona, I’m from Arizona, it was a whole thing.”

Actually the whole thing was just that Mitch will use any pretext to befriend someone, and that tenuous connection seemed as good a reason as any when they were the two new guys on their first day of a new job. Auston tried resisting it for about a day and then just gave in because it seemed easier. Which is probably how Mitch makes most of his friends, to be honest. It’s apparently how he and the boyfriend got together, too; Mitch being endearingly annoying until he eventually won.

“Okay, good to know,” says Freddie, shrugging Auston’s flustered babbling off like it isn’t weird at all. “I’m trying out a new recipe, this week. If you want to try the lime and yuzu mousse cake and tell me what you think, you can have it for half price.”

“You want to know what _I_ think?” Auston says skeptically. “I don’t even know what a yuzu _is_.”

Freddie chuckles. “It’s a japanese citrus fruit. Kind of like grapefruit and mandarin and lemon all in one. If you like key lime pie this cake tastes kind of like that but…” he shrugs, “more complicated.”

“I mean, I love everything you do, so,” Auston shrugs. Then his brain catches up with his mouth and he feels his face going hot again. “Like, cake wise, I mean. So. I’m sure it’s great. Um. Sure, I’ll try it. Thanks.”

“Awesome,” says Freddie, and fucking _winks_ at him, as if Auston wasn’t under enough strain right now. “I’ll expect you back here for a report soon.”

“Dude,” Mitch says flatly when Auston explains the yuzu cake (he doesn’t mention the wink). “You suck. He was so flirting with you.”

“No. No, he wasn’t.” Why would he? Auston is a walking disaster every time he goes into that shop.

“Oh man, one hundred percent,” Mitch insists. “A half price cake just for telling him your rando opinion? He knows his stupid cake is amazing.” He stuffs another forkful of said cake in his mouth and says around it, “And that apricot danish? Are you _kidding_ me?”

Auston rolls his eyes. “Come on, he was just being nice. I told you, it was a joke. We’ve got a whole baker customer professional relationship going, he was trying to make me feel better about being a dumbass with the danish thing. That’s just, like, good service.”

“I’ll bet he could service you real good,” Mitch says, and waggles his eyebrows until Auston throws a fork at him. “Seriously, Matty, the danish? Was a metaphor. For his apricot dick.”

“He thought you were my boyfriend!”

Mitch nods. “Well yeah, I definitely sensed some jealousy there. I just figured it was normal, I get that all the time.”

“You are such a douche,” says Auston, shaking his head, but he’s laughing. Mitch grins at him.

“I’m right though,” he says. “Search your feelings, you know it to be true.”

“A douche and a fucking nerd,” Auston amends. “Give me back that fork, will you? I have to have an opinion about this cake.”

Mitch tosses him the fork and digs into his own slice of cake again while he talks. “The cake is good. Zesty. Stromer’s in town this week by the way, did I tell you?”

“I’ll dig out the noise cancelling headphones,” Auston says dryly. “Also I still can’t believe you call your boyfriend by his last name, That’s so weird.” Mitch rolls his eyes.

“It’s not _weird_ , it’s a hockey thing,” he says, for probably the hundredth time. Auston does get it - even though Mitch hasn’t really played hockey since he was a kid, nicknames stick when you use them all the time - but ribbing him for his dumb Canadianisms is still funny. “Anyway, the only thing you’re going to need your headphones for is the gold medal game on Wednesday.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Well, and then the patriotic sex after Canada wins, obviously. You wanna watch the game with us? You can invite your apricot danish if you want.”

Auston makes a face. “I’m not inviting my cake baker to our _house_ to watch the olympics in the middle of the night. Who says he even likes hockey?”

“ _Your_ cake baker, huh?” Mitch smirks knowingly. “Of course he likes hockey, this is Toronto. Everyone likes hockey.”

“He’s Danish, it’s not like he’s gonna care whether or not the US comes out on top.” Mitch does this comically leering face and opens his mouth to say something Auston is one hundred percent sure is dirty and also something he doesn’t want to hear, so he cuts him off. “I’m third wheeling it, dude. No bakers.”

Mitch sighs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “I just wanted you to have someone to comfort you when you lose.”

*

Auston should know better than to trust Mitch with any personal information at all. Anything that has the capacity to embarrass the fuck out of him, anyway. The first thing Dylan - a guy Auston has met twice and barely knows, by the way - says after he’s dumped his bag in Mitch’s room is: “So, when do I get to go see the hot cake guy?”

Auston’s tempted to just let them go to the bakery without him so at least he won’t have to witness whatever humiliation they have in store, but he’s not quite brave enough to leave Mitch alone with Freddie unsupervised. So that’s how he finds himself walking into the bakery with Mitch and Dylan loudly trash talking team USA behind him, silently praying Freddie won’t be behind the counter today.

Miraculously, he isn’t, but the girl who is vanishes into the kitchen just as they’re coming through the door, so Auston’s plan of just buying the first thing he sees and getting Mitch and Dylan out quickly is ruined.

“Aw,” Dylan says loudly. “No hot baker? Oh shit, are these the cakes?” He bends down to look into the cabinet, practically smooshing his face against the glass. “Oh my god. Fuck me, these look amazing.”

“Can’t say my cake’s ever got that reaction before,” Freddie says, because of course he comes out of the kitchen right at that moment, wearing an apron and wiping his floury hands on the front of it. Auston really, really hopes he missed the “hot baker” comment or he’s going to kill Dylan, he doesn’t care what Mitch says.

“That’s what he thinks,” Mitch hisses, nowhere near quietly enough, and Auston revises that thought. He’s going to kill both of them.

“Auston,” Freddie says, catching sight of him and almost having a whole facial expression, not that Auston really knows how to interpret it. “You here to report on my yuzu cake?”

“Oh! Uh.” Why does he have to forget how to speak in full sentences every time Freddie looks at him? “Yeah, it was...I mean, really different, but awesome. I liked the, um, jelly stuff in the middle?” Yeah, he’s a regular gourmet. He should start a new career as a food critic. 

“Second best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” Mitch says innocently. “Matts, didn’t you say it was almost as good as that danish you had the other— _ow!_ ”

“Sorry,” says Auston. “Was that your foot?”

“Good, good,” Freddie nods, unphased. “How did your mom like that birthday cake the other week?”

“Oh man, she loved it,” Mitch beams. “You’re a genius, I’ve got orders to bring cake to every family gathering for the rest of my life.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Same deal today?”

“Nope,” Dylan says, slinging his arm around Mitch’s shoulders. “We’re here for gold medal celebration cake for tonight,” he says, and pumps his fist in the air. Auston snorts. 

“Not a hockey fan?” Freddie raises his eyebrows at him.

“Not a Canadian,” Auston replies.

“Oh, right. Arizona, you told me,” he shrugs one huge shoulder. “Sorry, the accents...they’re pretty similar.”

All three of them make identical outraged noises. It’s not until Freddie grins, slow and gleeful, that Auston realises that’s exactly the reaction he was going for. And then he has to look away quickly because his face feels all hot. It’s a rare grin but it’s a really good one, one Auston feels all the way down to his toes.

“You realise you’re, like, goliath in this game, right?” he tells Mitch and Dylan, to distract himself. “Nobody likes goliath. Everyone wants the little guy to win. Or...the little gal, I guess.”

“There’s nothing little about Hilary Knight,” Freddie points out, and they all pause to just sit with that thought for a second.

Dylan’s the first to shake it off. “You planning on watching the game?” he asks Freddie, with an easy friendliness that makes Auston immediately suspicious.

“Yeah, I’ll stay up. Should be a good one.”

“Aw, on your own, though?” Dylan presses. It makes alarm bells go off in Auston’s head but before he can say anything, Freddie shrugs and Dylan says, “That’s no fun, you should come watch it with us.”

“Oh yeah!” says Mitch, way too enthusiastically, and Auston knows, he _knows_ they fucking planned this. “That’s a great idea, we’re just around the corner from here.”

Freddie looks a little startled, but he glances at Auston, silently questioning, and Auston just begs himself to be chill and not say anything dumb.

“I mean, sure, if you want,” he says, trying to sound noncommittal. “Could be fun.”

“Great!” Mitch claps his hands together. “You should give Auston your number and then he can text you our address,” he says. When Auston gives him a withering look, he adds sweetly, “I think I left my phone at home,” as if he’d ever get more than five feet away from Instagram without hyperventilating.

“I hate you,” Auston says on the way home, once he’s exchanged numbers with Freddie and sent him the address. “Both of you. You’re the fucking worst.”

Mitch just smiles beatifically and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re definitely going to thank me for this later,” he says.

*

Freddie apparently has some important cake order being picked up first thing in the morning, so he’s going to be at the bakery until late finishing that off, and won’t get to their place until right before the game. He says nothing he’s got in the shop seems right for a gold medal celebration cake, but he’ll bring something over with him later, something that’s “cool enough for the occasion.”

So, really, it’s fine. It’s all fine. Auston’s just going to watch some hockey with some guys and have a good time and not freak out about anything, and it’s all going to be fine.

After several hours of him repeating this out loud every couple of minutes in an increasingly panicky sort of voice, Dylan shoves him onto the couch and sticks a beer in his hand.

“Drink that,” he says firmly. “I’m getting anxious just being around you.”

The nerves take a while to settle but the drinks keep coming so at least he has something to do with his hands. The upshot of this is that by the time Freddie actually arrives Auston’s quite relaxed, but also kind of tipsy.

“Heyyyy,” he says when he answers the door. “You brought cake! We should call you FredEx, for same day cake delivery.” Then he snort-laughs at his own joke, which he’s sober enough to know is embarrassing but not sober enough to care about. Maybe Dylan’s onto something with this beer strategy.

Then again, Freddie’s smiling a little bemusedly at him, and he’s just noticed a little smudge of blue buttercream on his cheek and has this almost overwhelming urge to, like, lick it off, so maybe not.

“You’ve got a little...uh, on your…” Words seem to be failing him and it seems like too much effort to explain, so he just reaches out and wipes it clean himself. Then somehow, before his brain can alert him that it’s a weird thing to do, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks the frosting off his thumb.

“Um. Blueberry?” he asks, feeling a lot more self conscious all of a sudden. He can’t read Freddie’s expression but it’s kind of intense.

Mitch chooses that moment to yell “Is that my cake delivery?” from the kitchen so at least that breaks the tension slightly. Auston gives an awkward little laugh.

“Uh, guess he’s happy you’re here.”

“Just him?” Freddie asks, coming inside and handing Auston the cake box so he can shrug off his coat. There’s not a lot of room in the hallway so they’re really close together; Auston has to hold the cake up a little so it won’t get jostled.

“Well, I’m a huge fan of cake, so.”

Smooth, he thinks. Nice one. Freddie still smells like coffee and vanilla and Auston wonders if that’s just from cake batter on his clothes or if he smells like that without them too. He probably should have had at least one less beer.

“Oh, you’re really going to like this one,” Freddie says, taking the box back. “But not til after the game.”

*

Auston may or may not yell “DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES” and do a little lap around the living room when Rooney stops that last shot from Agosta and USA takes the gold. He’s...not a graceful winner. Freddie loses it laughing and high fives him while Mitch calls him an asshole and Dylan shakes his head in disgust. It’s pretty great.

“Cheer up, buddy,” he tells Mitch gleefully, dropping back onto the couch and ruffling his hair. “At least there’s still cake.” Mitch huffs and folds his arms petulantly, so Auston opens up the cake box himself. “Oh shit it’s actually gold,” he exclaims. “That’s amazing.”

“It gets better,” Freddie grins. “You got a knife?”

It does indeed get better. When Auston cuts into the cake, the slice that comes out is a fucking honest to god American flag, thirteen stripes and everything. Mitch looks like he can’t decide whether to scream, cry or applaud. Auston, for his part, laughs so hard he thinks he might actually injure himself.

Mitch accepts an extra large slice, but he also spends the whole time he’s eating it bitching about shootouts and how they’re a stupid way to decide a gold medal, and flailing his arms around emphatically as he gets more and more worked up about it. Dylan ends up with a forkful of cake in the face in a particularly angry flail.

“Alright,” he says, plucking the fork out of Mitch’s hand before he can lose an eye, “I’m cutting you off.” Mitch protests, but Dylan just wraps both arms around his head and holds on until he stops talking. “Bedtime,” he says. Mitch whines something but it’s too muffled against Dylan’s chest to make out. Which is probably for the best, honestly; Mitch is no more gracious at losing than Auston is at winning.

Dylan drags him off to bed, and then all of a sudden it’s just Auston and Freddie. On the couch. Alone. 

Yikes.

Like, Auston’s doing a lot better than he thought he would tonight, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hyper aware of how close Freddie’s sitting, how their knees and shoulders are almost touching. He’s probably imagining that he can feel Freddie’s body heat. He hopes Freddie can’t tell his heart rate just kicked up a notch.

“It’s a really great cake,” Auston says, because if he doesn’t say something he’s just going to keep staring and that’s...probably weird. Freddie bumps their shoulders together companionably, and Auston wouldn’t say he gets tingles where they touch but he wouldn’t _not_ say that either.

“Yeah, I probably spent too much time on it, honestly. I’ve still got to go back to the shop and put the finishing touches on that cake that’s getting picked up in the morning.” He smiles. “Worth it, though.”

Auston winces. “You have to work now? Dude. It’s three am.” Freddie just shrugs.

“I mean, my day usually starts at four so. I really better go,” he says. But he makes no move to actually do it. Just sits there with his shoulder leaning up against Auston’s, watching his face. Auston wishes, not for the first time, that he could read Freddie’s expressions better.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. “I’ll come with you.”

Freddie looks up at him from the couch and raises his eyebrows. “You want to come and watch me decorate a cake at three in the morning?” he says, sounding amused. Auston’s definitely sober now but the way the corner of Freddie’s mouth tilts up when he says that, just a tiny bit, makes him feel a little unsteady on his feet anyway.

“Yeah,” he jerks his chin towards Mitch’s room. “They’ll be, uh, _commiserating_ for a while. I don’t want to be around for that.” And he doesn’t want Freddie to go just yet. Not when he’s finally starting to feel, like, normal around him. Almost. He holds out his hand. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Freddie looks at his hand, and Auston feels a bit dumb for offering it but it’d be even dumber to take it back now, so he stands his ground until Freddie takes it and stands up.

“Not at all,” he says.

*

It’s only a couple blocks to the bakery, but Auston’s still hyped about the win, and between that and his fizzing nervous energy over being _alone_ with _Freddie_ he gets kind of worked up about the game all over again. By the time Freddie’s unlocking the back door to the kitchen Auston’s giving him a verbal play by play of the last few minute of overtime, as if he wasn’t right there watching it himself half an hour ago.

“Alright,” Freddie says, half laughing as he ushers Auston inside. He steers him through the door with a hand in the small of his back, and Auston probably can’t really feel Freddie’s body heat through his coat, but the touch feels like a brand all the same. He shivers. “You go sit over there while I get set up and try not to knock anything over.”

“Bossy,” Auston says, already going where he’s been directed. Freddie raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well I am the boss here, you know.”

“Cake boss,” Auston says, and grins when Freddie rolls his eyes. He hoists himself up onto the counter and swings his feet a little while Freddie collects a bunch of piping bags and decorating accessories and then retrieves a massive three-layer cake from the giant industrial fridge.

“Woah,” he says as Freddie frowns at the cake with a critical eye. “That looks sick. Is it for a wedding or something?”

“A sixtieth birthday,” says Freddie, selecting a piping bag. “For a lady with a lot of money and a lot of friends.” You’d want both to justify a cake like that, Auston figures. It’s already covered in white frosting from top to bottom and decorated with this incredibly detailed lacy pattern, also in white. Auston can’t imagine what finishing touches it needs, honestly.

“Flowers,” Freddie says, selecting a piping bag. “Lots and lots of flowers.”

He explains what he’s doing as he gets down to work, about the different types of frosting and the different piping tips he’s using, all the special techniques that go into making the flowers from fat pink roses to tiny blue things that start out as just dots of buttercream and somehow transform into multi-layered three-dimensional blossoms under Freddie’s capable hands. It’s kind of mesmerising to watch as the cake goes from lacy white canvas to trellis of pastel coloured flowers before his eyes.

“Last one,” Freddie says finally, adding one last pink rose to the top of the cake.

“Geez, that looks so good,” Auston says, staring. He’s not sure whether he means the cake or the skill or the guy or all of the above. Freddie glances up at him without lifting his head, and Auston bites his lip. Okay, definitely the guy is a significant factor.

Freddie looks at him for a long time, like he’s considering something. Then he straightens up.

“Thanks,” he says, then pipes a little pink frosting onto his finger and holds it out. “Strawberry. You want to try?”

Auston blinks at him for a moment. He feels kind of spellbound by the whole night, the empty bakery, the quiet intense decorating work, and he doesn’t know if this is still part of that or what. He shakes his head with a helpless little laugh and feels his face turning red. 

“I can’t read you man,” he says helplessly. Is this a joke, or a come on or what? Is Freddie making fun of him and his dumb crush that, at this point, can probably be seen from space? Or does he really mean it? Auston honestly can’t tell.

“Huh,” Freddie says. “Yeah, I get that a lot. How about this?”

He puts his other, frosting-free hand on Auston’s jaw and just...kisses him. Easy as anything.

So, like. That seems like a pretty clear signal.

Auston’s still tempted to pinch himself, to check if he’s dreaming, when Freddie pulls back and smirks at him, offering his frosted fingertip again. “Now do you want to try?” he repeats.

Auston steadies his wrist with both hands and licks up the frosting with a slow, deliberate swipe, Freddie’s fingertip catching on his lower lip.

It’s really fucking good frosting, which isn’t surprising at all because Auston’s pretty familiar with Freddie’s baking at this stage, after so many goddamn cakes. It’s strawberry, but it tastes like actual strawberries, not that sticky pink candy bar flavour most “strawberry” flavoured things taste like, plus there’s the faintly salty taste of Freddie’s skin underneath it, and honestly Auston should be forgiven for the fact that his eyes flutter closed and he kind of moans a little bit. He wants to melt through the floor as soon as he does it, but only for about five seconds, until he opens his eyes again and sees the look on Freddie’s face.

“Fuck,” Freddie says softly, and he cups Auston’s face in both hands and kisses him again, harder and deeper this time, chasing the taste of strawberries into his mouth. His finger’s wet and sticky on Auston’s cheek and that ought to be a little gross but actually it’s just a _lot_ , and Auston pulls him closer, pressing his knees into Freddie’s sides and wrapping both arms around him.

“‘Sgood,” Auston says breathlessly, once they’ve broken apart. “Uh, the frosting, I mean. But like, the rest is...good too.” God, why is he still such a dork? Freddie, at least, doesn’t seem to mind. He cracks an actual smile, wide and warm, that makes Auston’s insides swoop pleasantly. “Does this mean you um. Like me?”

“What gave it away?” Freddie teases, stroking his thumb over Auston’s cheek.

“No offence, but...I’m a fucking _idiot_ ,” Auston says, a little incredulous. “I mean, I’m not, not normally. But around you I can barely string a sentence together.”

“You’ve been stringing sentences together all night,” Freddie tells him, shrugging. “It’s not like I’m a big talker.”

“Oh yeah?” Auston says. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“If I’d know you were such a smartass I would have done this earlier,” Freddie says, and pulls him across the benchtop by the hips just, effortlessly. _Fuck_. “I planned this really badly,” he goes on, kissing his way along Auston’s jaw and down his neck. He leans into him, big and heavy, but kind of careful too, like he’s holding back a little. Auston savours the warm hands on his thighs and the light scrape of teeth on his neck and does _not_ want him to hold back.

“Why?” says Auston, all high and breathy and refusing, for once, to be embarrassed about it.

“Well I can’t get you naked in my kitchen. It’s not hygienic,” Freddie murmurs against his throat. Auston’s breath hitches.

“Oh, right,” he says. “That makes sense.” He pauses, anchoring one hand in Freddie’s hair, and waits for him to lift his head and look him in the eye. Then he says, “Okay, so where can you get me naked?”

*

Auston knows a few more things about his hot cake baker now, but probably his favourite new thing is what Freddie looks like first thing after he wakes up, rumpled and sleepy and tugging Auston closer for just a few more minutes of sleep. For someone who routinely wakes up at four, he’s not great at getting out of bed in the morning, although he says it was easier before it meant having to leave someone behind as well.

He also knows Freddie hates working behind the counter and would prefer to just keep making cake all day long, but that he does it anyway when there’s a rush on, or when one of the baristas is away unexpectedly. Or, as it turns out, when someone cute comes in every couple of weeks to buy a cake for no reason.

Auston’s still not exactly a cake fiend, but he’s still got a housemate with an endless appetite for sugar, so that’s good. If Mitch gives him knowing looks with a lot of obnoxious eyebrow waggling every time he brings a cake home, well it’s not so bad. Not now he’s getting laid more often than Mitch is, so he’s got something of his own to feel smug about.

Auston takes his time choosing the right cake, pleasantly aware of the way Freddie’s watching him intently from the other side of the cake cabinet. When he places his order - lemon and gingerbread layer cake with raspberry compote - Freddie nods approvingly, with a twinkle in his eye like they’re sharing a secret joke. Auston still doesn’t know what the joke is, but he doesn’t mind

“What’s the occasion?” Freddie says dutifully, sliding the gingerbread cake off its shelf and lifting it into its box.

“You are,” Auston tells him, and he blushes slightly, not because he’s still awkward but because it’s a cheesy fucking line.

Freddie just smiles.


End file.
